


One Too Many

by messier51



Series: Tired Tropes [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Detective Sam, Gen, Murder, Serial Killer Dean, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messier51/pseuds/messier51
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has killed the same man over and over. Someday he's going to figure out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Too Many

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr [here](http://messier51.tumblr.com/post/120331221902/serial-killer-au) for the [tired tropes](http://messier51.tumblr.com/post/120138934007/ceeainthereforthat-defilerwyrm-why-settle) prompt: "Serial killer AU."

“When, exactly, were you going to tell me?” **  
**

“Tell you what, exactly, Sammy?” Dean talks around the highlighter cap in his mouth as he skims the newspaper in his hands.

“That my brother’s a freakin’…serial killing… psycho,” Sam huffs out.

“Dude, ‘psycho’? Really? Haven’t you ever heard of microaggressions?”

Sam frowns but waits patiently for Dean to address what he thinks is the bigger problem, apparently. Because killing people is worse than using the wrong words. Or something.  

“I’m not a serial killer, Sam,” Dean says as seriously as he can.

“So, those aren’t really your fingerprints on that knife. The knife that looks _exactly the same_ as the knife we’ve found at five other crime scenes. Each with men that look _very similar_ to the one who died last week. From having his throat slit. With a silver knife.”

Jimmy Novak.

Steve Godson.

Emmanuel Allen.

Eddie Moscone.

Clarence Milton.

Dmitri Adler.

Dean knows each of their names by heart. Each time the man comes to him, he gives a different one, along with the knife. Each time is the same “you have a job to do, Dean” and “I hate asking you to do this but the consequences if we don’t, are worse.” At this point in the man’s rehearsed speech, he reaches out to trace his shaking fingers along Dean’s cheekbone.

He always says please, and Dean is always careful, and Dean is never sober the next day.

Tears don’t count if they’re mostly alcohol leaving the body, right?

But he’s not a serial killer, Dean knows that. He’s only ever killed one man. Sam won’t understand so Dean shrugs it off, “Must be a mistake. Killing with silver is stupid anyway, how do you keep an edge on a blade like that? Look, I don’t have an alibi for any of those nights, so if you want to take me in, just do it.”

Sam sighs and walks out. He’s probably already destroyed any evidence. Whatever, there are bigger fish to fry.

* * *

 

There’s a hook in Dean’s stomach trying to drag it out of his body through his heart when he sees the man in a tan trenchcoat in the middle of a crowd in Millennium Park. His legs still get him across the throng, and his hands don’t shake as much as he expects them to when he grabs the guy’s arm to keep him from escaping.

Dean doesn’t say much but he drives them out of the city, out to an abandoned farm on a friend’s property. Rudy’s up north for deer season, he won’t mind.

An hour and a half of tires on tires on pavements and their only exchange is “So what’s your name this time?” and “Castiel.”

He looks more nervous than he ever has before. But, Dean thinks, maybe that’s _him_ this time. Maybe all the others, like Castiel, have never wanted this before.

It’s all wrong and now Dean knows it. Castiel tries to fumble the knife into Dean’s hands without a word, and Dean drops it.

“I can’t do it. It’s too big.”

Damn Sam and damn every stray thought in Dean’s head. To hell with the consequences. Not ONE of Castiel’s predecessors has ever even tried to explain them. Castiel just stares.

“Whatever. I can’t do it. Find someone else–it’s not me. I’m not–I’m not strong enough. I don’t even understand, and I….”

Castiel crumbles to his knees, and reaches for the knife abandoned to the floor.

Dean hesitates for the fraction of a second it takes his heart to fall from his throat to his guts, and then he’s scrambling to tackle Castiel to the ground, and to take the knife back. When everything stills, Dean pulls back with the knife in his hand, but doesn’t break eye contact with Castiel underneath him. He tosses the knife across the empty barn before bringing his own shaking hand to this new face, practically the same as every previous one.

Dean’s hand leaves a smear of blood on Castiel’s cheekbone before Dean passes out.


End file.
